12

The Good Girl

Cassius answers before I'm done knocking. His body eclipses the orange gleam radiating from inside the cabin. Loose sweatpants ride his narrow hips and a sleeveless tank clings to his ripped torso.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Catholic girl?" he asks.

I will miss that crackling voice. It's reserved but without the tinge of bitterness I'd expected. He's being polite. I want more from him, even though I shouldn't.

The breath that I draw begins in my navel and rises up through me, the way a new emotion might. "May I come in?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "Thought you weren't talking to me."

"This won't take long."

"Then the front stoop should do fine."

"I humbly disagree. The birds are eavesdropping."

"Daddy Chaste sent you to apologize, didn't he?"

I reign in my annoyance. "I came willingly."

"I'm flattered."

"If you would only, this once, cease your roguish sarcasm and let me in before the sun rises."

Impressed, he steps to the side. I struggle to get past him without quivering from his leather and spice scent, a combination of earthy and sweet. It pains me beyond belief when I see the duffel bag already packed and stationed on the floor beneath his wall mural.

He closes the door but stays near it, holding onto the knob. The stove fills the place with the scent of burning wood as flames lick the air impatiently. It's the only source of light in the room. I guess he was headed to bed, after all, when I arrived.

I school myself to act dignified. "I must apologize for messing up dinner tonight. I was upset."

"No shit."

"I broke up with David."

His features twitch and then smooth out again into impassiveness. “About time, Duchess.” He has such a hard jawline for such a boyish face.

"Maybe I was a little cranky," I add.

Cassius glances at the floor. "How are you now?"

How to answer that? I'm still upset. I'm worse than upset. My heart has been trampled upon by something more monstrous, and less easy to operate, than a tractor.

My hands fall into my apron pockets. "It hurts."

I'm not talking about David. I'm talking about now. Right here. Right now. I don't want things to end this way. I don't want them to end at all, I realize. I dread letting this man go. I dread entering this cabin tomorrow and finding it empty. I care too much.

"Any other reason for your mood?" he inquires. The curtain of indifference slips, revealing a more vulnerable desire. It's so unusual coming from him that it terrifies me.

"No," I lie.

Why can't I tell him the truth? What is the truth? Why can't I stay away?

The side of his mouth twists upward in self-mockery, as if telling himself he should have known better. I don't want him to think that way about me, that I'm the predictably stoic and dispassionate girl he once accused me of being, that his departure doesn't matter.

"Well. Thanks for the apology," he says. "Then we're done here."

I stop him from opening the door and kicking me out. "Wait. I-I'm not done."

"You need someone to talk to about Asshole?"

I'm amazed he would even tolerate it if I'd come to him for that reason. His exterior is far too calm and calculating to trust. He's pretending what we have is only skin deep, when truly it reaches further depths, beyond our physical selves. Beyond his city and my countryside. Beyond the wheat fields and beyond our clandestine trips on his motorcycle. Beyond other people, especially David.

My voice is dry as straw and just as thin. "To marry someone, they have to mean everything to me, not simply be a dependable friend and share the same faith. I couldn't devote myself to him that way. But I'm fine about that."

He crosses his arms. "I don't doubt it. You usually are fine during catastrophes," he remarks in spite of the admiration that I detect in his words.

"Not each time," I answer. "But in this case, yes. I'll survive without him."

"So I'm curious. What can't you survive without, Annabelle?"

"I didn't come here for you to dissect me. I'm bothered enough already."

"By what? What's the problem?" he asks casually.

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

Though I look down when I say it, the plea comes out naturally, as do most things with him. This moment is what I crave. It's only happened once, but the memory of those arms around me is too rich. I have one more night to feel them before he leaves me. I need this one last night.

Cassius' tone is mild, which means it's nearing the edge of a more volcanic reaction. "I thought you said you'll be fine."

My head snaps up. I lose my grasp on the meaning of dignified. "This isn't about David. It's about you!"

"How is this about me?” he rasps. “It's never been that way before. I'm the last thing you consider."

"You do not believe that."

"I'm just a deviant intruder in this farm. A non-Catholic fuck-up who breaks laws and doesn't fit in. But oh, what a dangerous and exciting distraction for you. The perfect excuse to call it quits with Asshole."

The comment knifes through me. "You were more than that."

His features clench. "Were, huh?"

"I mean, you are. You...you're..." I wring my hands. "Do not depreciate yourself like this. And do not insult the way I see you."

"I have no idea how you see me."

"You always have an idea! That's how you break me!"

He explodes, throwing his arms out to the sides. "What the hell do you need from me? Huh? I've made it abundantly clear how much I want you, and you've made it clear that it can't happen. I get it. I'm not trying to be a prick.” He laughs bitterly. “For the first time in my fucked-up life, I’m not trying to be a prick. I'm doing what you asked and backing off. So just..." He rakes his fingers through his hair. "What, Annabelle? Why are you here?"

"Please," I whisper, mortified by my rickety tone.

I listen to the fire humming. I listen to his steady breaths reaching me from across the room. I listen to him sigh. I listen to the sound of him locking the door. I listen to our footsteps when he takes my hand, his thumbing gently massaging my skin, and guides me to the bed. I listen to our inhales and exhales converging into a single, weightless, caressing sound. Which extends into one long sleep.

And in the morning, I wake up and listen to his heartbeat. I press my ear to that magnificent chest, counting every thump, wishing they could all be mine. The mattress winces as I lean up and study his sleeping face. Always unapologetically beautiful.

It's around dawn. I can tell from the weak light outside. As he wakes up, a groan rumbles from the back of his throat. The way he puckers his lips, then blinks up at me, is too cute for his own good. "Still here?" he asks, though there's a teasing lilt to his words.

"Still here," I say, because I'm not the one who's leaving. We have a couple of hours before that policeman picks him up, and I have an idea. But I hesitate.

He can tell. "What's up?"

"Will you take me somewhere?"

We get on the motorcycle and ride back to the hill. It's a terrifically chilly, eye-popping drive, but it's warmer once we get there. As we sit in our usual spot together, Cassius Gunner unpacks the blanket we brought and wraps it around me, refusing even an inch for himself.

This early and from this far away, the city looks faded. Like the concept of a place rather than a real one. Or like an aged photo that has been forgotten.

"Show me where you live," I say. "So if I ever make it back here, I'll know where to look."

He points out the Gunner café in a gap between the skyscrapers. "There’s an apartment above. Needs work. I'll be staying therfe, and I'm gonna try and get Dylan to stay with me, too. I don't want him alone with Mom. She basically disowned me when I got arrested again."

I'm relieved he won't be returning to her, but it must wound him to know the person who should care for him most in this world doesn't. The longer we sit here, the more devastated I become. Suddenly, I don't want to talk about the life waiting for him on the other side of this hill.

Cassius stares at the distance. "Last night, Elsie asked me what I learned from you."

I remember. That was the moment I lost my temper at the dinner table.

He twists his ring around his finger. "I learned you have this beauty mark hidden behind your ear, and when you touch it, it means you're nervous. I learned that when you laugh, it lasts exactly three seconds—no more, no less. I learned that you sleep soundly when you lay on your side, and you kick off the covers when you sleep on your back, and you mumble when you sleep on your stomach. I learned that you love to eat, but more than that, you love to gather what you eat. I learned that you're selfless and fiery and brave and a real pain in the ass. And you're completely irreplaceable."

My throat coils into a small knot.

"I learned that there is one person I will never fool, because she sees right through me every single time. I like that about her."

He waits for me to respond. The backs of my eyes mist. I'm shattering. He's shattering me. Yet I'm unable to do him the honor of answering. How could anything I say measure up?

His laughter is dry. "I've also learned that your flair for parting words is fucking profound."

Before I can stop him, he stands and holds out his hand. "We gotta get back."

I take it and rise. I make it a short distance before I stop. I watch him walk back to the motorcycle, where he bends his head to check something. Desperation rears its head because this is it, and I can't find one thing to say. One way to make him understand.

Please, don't go.

It's an irrational request. He can't stay, but I want to beg him anyway. Not to leave. Not yet.

I know what I want. I can't imagine feeling anything stronger, or more right, than what comes to me right now.

"Cassius Gunner," I say.

"Get on the bike, Annabelle Chaste."

"I would very much like to...to give myself to you."

Slowly, the back of his head lifts. My pulse stutters to a complete stop and then picks up again as I wait for his answer. When he turns, the untamed look on his face causes a flurry of sensations to spiral down my body and unite in one very sensitive place. He heard me loud and clear, but he doesn't move a muscle.

I do. Nervously, I untie the headdress from my head and drop it to the ground. It feels okay to do this, so I keep going. I let him watch. This is something special, and I want to pay tribute to it as much as possible before I lose all sense of cohesion.

I unwind my braid, letting it fall in waves over my shoulders. Glancing down, I attempt to unfasten my blouse, but I'm trembling so badly that I can't manage.

A warm hand settles over my own, stopping me. Somehow, he made it across the grass without me hearing. I force myself to look up. He's studying my face. Questioning.

Embarrassed, I sigh. "The snaps aren't—"

"Shhh."

I gaze into blue eyes that have darkened. We pause. A needy sound rises from the back of my throat. And something unlocks.

He hoists me into his arms so desperately that I grasp his shoulders for balance. Our mouths collide. It's been so long. Too long.

His tongue splits my lips apart and searches for mine like I’m cotton candy. When I offer it to him, he shudders, and all our restraint, all our resolve from these past weeks, falls to pieces. The kiss is feverish. Every flick of his tongue produces a gentle throb in my groin. The effect of it yokes from between my thighs.

His fingers grip my waist as he walks me backward toward the blanket. We sink to the ground. The wool blanket grazes the curves of my knees. The world spins as he twists and lays me down, the movement forcing our mouths to separate.

He pulls off my shoes, then slips his fingers under my skirt and finds the tops of my stockings, half way up my thighs. One by one, he rolls them past my calves, just the way he once said he would, then tosses them to the side. Without looking away from me, he runs his fingers across my bare skin, and I buck against his touch.

My billowy little shorts are next. His expression turns husky as he loosens the drawstring ties. They unfurl against my stomach and slide down my legs, beyond my curling toes. He links his hands around my ankles and pushes them until my knees bend and my legs spread.

Now, he breaks eye contact. His gaze travels into the gap of my skirt where I'm exposed. A thrill shoots up my spine as I lay bare for his heavy-lidded inspection. He licks the bows of his lips. "You're soaked. I can see it from here."

With that, his head disappears beneath the garment. He hitches my legs over his shoulders and glides his arms under my waist, lifting my pelvis to receive him. I brace myself, my center twitching in anticipation. At first, he goes still, and I fret that I've done something wrong.

Then it happens. The pad of his tongue swathes along the wet track between my thighs. It's a patient, sensual introduction that has me arching my back instantly. A moan stirs from my mouth. He moans back in response and starts to lap at me greedily. It urges me on, and the noises multiply.

He finds that nugget of nerves and sucks it into his plush mouth. And I die. Over and over. I lose control. I'm loud. I'm grabbing fistfuls of grass and tossing my head from side to side.

Still, he persists. He sucks harder. His moans thicken as though he's been thirsty for decades. He increases the pressure until that nugget is vibrating like a leaf against his relentless mouth.

"Cassius," I cry out, so loud and so real.

He gives me one more tender lick, then reappears, a raw expression contorting his face. It is a delightful chore, having to catch my breath. I'm still recovering when he gathers me up onto his lap and brushes his lips against mine in a sweet kiss.

Breaking away, he pops the snaps of my blouse and drags it over my head, then cracks the closure of my bra and slides it off. His palms run over my breasts, thumbing the nipples until they ripen to a dark pink hue. I curl into him, marveling at how well we fit together. Those calloused hands travel over my skin and cradle my head as it falls back, allowing him to graze the column of my throat with his mouth.

This is passion, I realize. This is what passion does to you.

We grow impatient again. Cassius crosses his arms and yanks his shirt off, allowing me to do what I've been yearning to since the moment I first saw his naked chest in the cabin. My fingers span his broad shoulders, along his strong arms, and sweep across his abdomen.

When I reach the swell in his pants, he makes a strangled noise. We undo his zipper and ease down the waistband. Just enough. The solid heat of him fills my hand. Our foreheads press together as we gaze down at me holding his erection, stroking him, our breaths mingling. His eyes pinch shut. He falls apart so beautifully, reduced to whimpers, under the rhythm of my hand.

I want to keep going, but once the noises he makes begin to escalate and his torso tenses up, Cassius bats away my fingers in hurry. He lowers me to the blanket once more, where he rids me of the skirt, his eyes raking over my bare form. He lavishes me with his touch and kisses, taking the time to discover the arch of my foot, the knobs of my knees, the curve in my waist, the sensitive spot where my arms bend, and the hardened buds that ache for his fingers. He turns me into a shrine.

And then my own gaze rakes over him as he strips for me. His wide build tapers at the waist. He's hard and smooth everywhere.

Everywhere.

He extracts a condom from the wallet in his jeans pocket. I gasp at the sound of the tear.

My cheeks flush as I hold out my arms to him. "Cassius."

When he lowers himself and nestles his hips between my thighs, I crush him to me, savoring the contact of our bare chests, our stomachs rubbing against each other. My legs ribbon around him and link beneath his backside.

He props himself on his elbows. "I'll go slow. I'm going to make sure you like every second of this."

I know he will. I trust him.

His tip pries me open. My outer walls flutter apart like a curtain as the head of his erection slips past them. Then his hardness retreats as he arches his lower back. Then returns as his hips revolve forward again. Probbing me. Ebbing away. Probing me again.

I expand for him. The burn heightens. The teasing pattern continues until I'm writhing. My hands cup his backside, spurring him on, entreating.

"Fuck..." he mumbles hoarsely.

I need to beg him. I can't take it. It's...just...so...

Cassius frames my face in his hands. And his length grinds all the way into me. And we groan, the throaty sounds rocketing to the sky.

It doesn't hurt like I'd expected it to. What difficulties I do have vanish under his experienced movements. His access to my body is deep and penetrating. His rhythm is agonizingly controlled. We melt, our hips rolling together.

He buries his face in the side of my neck, and I can't believe that I almost gave up this chance. I cannot believe I almost made the choice to share this with another forever, because there's no way it would have meant as much, or felt this heavenly. I want to freeze this moment and live in it.

Please, don't go.

There it is again. That same, continuous, impossible thought. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. They land on his profile, causing him to lift his head, his expression turning ragged when he sees that I'm crying.

"No," he says. "Don't be sad." He kisses away my tears. The next words are affectionate and fierce and him. "Just fuck me. Enjoy my body. Mold me inside you."

Hearing that makes me crumble. Our hungry, mournful gazes fasten together. I show him that I'm his. I let go of it all, and he feels my insides welcome him.

"Yes," Cassius sighs in approval.

He pins my arms above my head. His upper body rises so that he has a better view of me beneath him. The shift in position changes the direction of his languid thrusts, hitting a spot that makes my legs unlock and fall open, landing at his sides where they ride his snapping hips.

I sob from the pleasure. I need more. So much more.

"Almost there, baby," he says.

His lower lip hangs open for me to taste. Emboldened, I pull it into my mouth, making him hiss. My life narrows to the spot where we're joined, whirling so fast that I go blind to everything but those harsh blue irises. Our tempo becomes erratic.

"Now," he gasps.

I burst. So does he. We unleash in one long, collective, resonating moan. I feel him convulse and spill into me. I memorize what it looks like when he climaxes. His jaw goes slack. His eyelids flutter. We become exactly what he once promised: a broken, panting mess.

Our damp foreheads collapse against each other. His bangs tickle my skin. He remains between my legs, still inside me, with no intention of moving. We stay like this, staring, smiling. Cassius is adorable when he smiles.

I'm comfortable here. I'm happy, even as reality pricks its way into my head. We seal this moment with an exhausted kiss. One of my hands settles on his back while the other wanders over the dandelion tattoo.

I whisper, "We can't love each other."

He whispers, "I know."

"We shouldn't."

"I know."

"So let's say that we don't. We don't love each other. Say it with me," I implore. "Please."

Cassius runs his finger over my mouth. "I...I don't love you."

"I don't...love you, either," I promise.

Easier words. Safer words.

"That's how I'll always feel." He pecks my nose. "Always."

"Always," I reply.